Same Ole Misery
by marphlets
Summary: Jack's high school days weren't ideal. How did he become the hero we know and love?


Jack didn't have a hard time separating reality from fiction, but he did have a hard time believing this would hurt so much.

_Oh God, let this just be a dream!_

He gritted his teeth against the anger and the pain. Why did there have to be five of them? Why were they so angry? What did I do to make them hate me? All Jack had were questions and prayers.

Seven guys had jumped him the moment he turned to walk down the street where he and his parents lived. Two of them just stood there hurling insults and offering encouragement to the boys doing the pummeling. Despite himself, Jack had to laugh at that. _How many jocks does it take to beat up Jack O'Neill? _He made a funny. Two seconds later, he wished he hadn't.

"What are you laughing at, _Peon_?" They were short on good insults in the seventies.

The largest tackle of the highschool football team slipped his arms under Jack's shoulders and hauled him to his feet. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to stare the stupid, fascist All-American quarterback in the face and say "_You_, Ass-wipe!" But all he could manage was a cowering "Nothing."

"Nothing? It didn't sound like nothing to me. What do you think, Clarence?" The QB addressed the line backer standing next to him.

"I think we should pummel 'em, Keith!" Clarence said in the most menacing tone he could manufacture, sounding more like a pirate than a backyard bully.

Keith paused to give his best friend an incredulous look and slapped him upside the head. "We are pummeling him, Moron."

The line backer rubbed the back of his head.

"I don't think we're hitting you hard enough, Jackie. Do we need to beat you some more?"

"No. No Thanks. I'm good, really. I understand perfectly. You're the masters and I'm the peon. I got it, no more beating necessary." When he said "beating" his voice cracked and blood mixed with saliva spewed from his mouth. The jocks got a hearty laugh out of that, but Jack was just happy they hadn't started hitting him again. His ribs were killing him, he could barely see through the swollen slits of his eyes, and he'd already choked down several of his own teeth.

"I'm sorry, Jackie boy. I'm afraid we can't take your word on the matter. You see, it's a well known fact that puny little peons like you are nothing but cowering liars." Keith emphasized "puny little peons" by poking Jack in the forehead for each word. The smaller boy couldn't believe how much it hurt. It felt like every inch of his body was bruised and bleeding. It was winter in Minnesota, and he was wearing several layers of thick clothing, but he still felt naked.

The tackle holding him down turned to give Keith a better target, and the pummeling started up once again. Jack just turned off after that. He was in a tremendous amount of pain, but it had to stop eventually, he hoped. By the time the seven football players had finished their job, it was almost dark. Jack waited until he was sure they weren't waiting to jump him the moment he got up, then stumbled home. He sneaked in the back door and dragged himself up the stairs to his room. After he'd washed up, he stopped in front of the mirror to assess the damages. He didn't think anything was broken, but he was certain that his mom would make him go to the doctor's office in the morning. At that moment he just wanted to rest, nurse his own wounds, and maybe cry - just a little.

Hours went by before he'd finished weeping. He couldn't think of a reason for it. He'd never messed with those guys. He was nice to everyone - the class clown. Ok, so maybe he didn't show up to every football game, but some of their parents didn't even do that. Despite his efforts to include everyone, Jack and his group of friends always ended up on the receiving end of Keith's cruelty. His best friend, Jenner, had been to the doctor's office seven times this year! Jenner was even smaller than him, and Jack felt kind of like an older brother to him. He'd even managed to protect him from Keith's cronies a few times, but he couldn't fend them all off - he wasn't Superman.

The teenager in Jack wanted to find a weapon and seek revenge, but the little boy in him wished he could be Superman. He wished for all those times that he'd watched his friends get attacked, that he could have swept in, destroyed the bad guys, and saved the day. No matter how bad it ever got for Jack - ever time he and his suffered that same ole misery - that was always his greatest hope. Some day he would find the power to be a super man.


End file.
